


The One with the Little Debbie Chocolate Cupcakes

by RowboatCop



Series: 3 Times Coulson Didn't Visit Skye at The Retreat (and 1 Time He Did) [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson is good with his tongue, F/M, Little Debbie Snack Cakes, Making Out, Skoulson Sex Cabin, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4148274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson returns to The Retreat a couple of days after dropping Skye off there, and they eat the Little Debbie snack cakes. Featuring feels and porn and Coulson's tongue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with the Little Debbie Chocolate Cupcakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts).



“Hi,” he greets her with a smile when she opens the front door.

She’s wearing a large white button-down shirt, tucked only in the front, which almost entirely covers her shorts in the back. It’s not a look he’s ever seen her in before — though actually the shirt is familiar enough, so he supposes it’s just the shorts.

He’s not used to seeing so much of her legs, and he tightens his jaw against that thought even as he lets his eyes wander down the naked expanse of them, all the way to her bare feet.

“Hi,” she answers, and he snaps his eyes back to her face, suddenly self conscious about how _obvious_ he’s being. He was obvious when he dropped her off here, too, the day before yesterday, and it’s possible that he’s run out of other ways to _be_ with Skye.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course. I mean, it’s basically your house, right?”

“No,” he corrects her. “Skye this is yours. For as long as you need it.”

“Like it was The Hulk’s before me?”

She doesn’t seem angry, but Coulson flushes — he wishes he had explained this before she found out...whatever it is she’s found out. It’s a common theme, honestly, and he should have probably caught on by now.

Before he can speak, though, she turns around and heads inside.

He follows.

“Skye —”

“Hungry?”

She opens a kitchen cabinet and pulls out the box of chocolate cupcakes he’d packed for her, waves them around in what he thinks is meant to be a tempting way.

“I know you like them. Simmons told me they’re from you.”

He nods, once, and watches as she opens the box — she hasn’t had any yet, was maybe waiting for him — and pulls out two of the snack cakes.

“You got _Cosmic Cupcakes_ ,” Skye half laughs as she looks down at the brightly colored sprinkles on top.

“After everything this year, It seemed appropriate,” he ventures, suddenly unsure of the choice to bring up her connection to aliens and feeling unbearably awkward standing in Skye’s living room with his backpack over his shoulder. It’s a relief when she smiles.

“I guess it is.”

“For both of us,” he adds because this is important to him, that she understands that they’re in this together, that whatever has happened to her is still connected to what happened to him.

“Relax, Coulson. Take off your jacket.”

And he knows what she means — she wants him to just be himself, to be with her as a friend and not as...a boss. But the thing is that he and Skye have always been this big tangled mess of labels and feelings and alien blood, and it’s been a challenge to figure out where the SHIELD guy ends and her friend begins. It’s a challenge he’s been struggling with since he had to put distance between them — had to cut her out — and found that he couldn’t push her away in just one role.

Still, he does as asked, setting his bag down on the table and slipping out of his jacket.

“Will you let me explain?”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” she tells him, and it _sucks_ because she means it. As in, it’s not passive aggressive, it’s not her judging him, it’s not even her accusing him of having lied. She was just teasing, just calling out his attempt to smooth things over, but at her core she believes she deserves to be treated like a monster.

And it fucking _sucks_.

“Skye,” he tries again, but she breezes past him and takes a seat on the couch.

“Take off your shoes, would you?”

He does as she’s asked and also tugs off his socks so he won’t slip on the wood floors as he joins her on the other side of the couch.

She tosses him a cupcake across the short distance — the crinkle of the plastic wrapper is loud in the otherwise quiet room — and he catches it. He doesn’t open it, though, and he thinks maybe Skye is taking her cue from him because she doesn’t open hers either.

He takes a deep breath.

“Doctor Banner built this house.”

“To contain himself?”

“That’s the way he thought of it, yes,” Coulson admits. “But Fury was always at least as worried about him. And with good reason.”

“He’s The Hulk, Coulson. He’s pretty much unkillable, isn’t he?”

“Not all danger is physical.”

She swallows and sets down her cupcake on the coffee table. He does the same.

“No?”

“I think the worst thing for Doctor Banner is the idea that...the _other guy_ might hurt someone. That he might feel responsible for hurting someone.”

For Skye, that’s even more terrifying, since her fear of hurting others nearly led her to kill herself.

She nods.

“I get it,” she promises him. “I do. It’s a relief to know that I won’t accidentally hurt someone. Plus, I mean, Fitz was the only one who was even trying to be normal around me. He did all the stuff I tried to do for him after…”

“I noticed. I’m glad you had someone who could be there for you.”

“As though you weren’t?”

“I couldn’t be as much as I wanted to,” he admits.

“May was already worried that you were prioritizing me over SHIELD.”

“Skye —”

“And I get it. I mean, you’re the Director. And sometimes, with me...you don’t act like it.”

“True enough,” he admits.

“Andrew and I talked about it.”

“About me?”

“Yeah.”

It makes him nervous.

“Dr. Garner didn’t mention that.”

“Well, that part was private,” she tosses back.

Coulson leans forward and picks up his cupcake to fiddle with the wrapper, which prompts Skye to do the same. It’s like she’s waiting to see if they’re eating, yet, and when he doesn’t open it, she abandons the treat on the coffee table again.

“You totally want to ask what Andrew and I talked about, huh?”

He just smiles and shrugs, passing the plastic wrapped cupcake from hand to hand and trying to acknowledge his curiosity and also the fact that he’ll never directly ask her.

“He mentioned that...that our relationship, it’s very important to both of us.”

Coulson nods, and tries very hard to school his face such that he isn’t prodding for more information.

“Actually, he said that… That he thinks ours is the _most_ important relationship for both of us. And I know for me it’s true.”

“For me, too,” he adds quietly, not willing to let her hang out on a limb. It’s hardly admitting anything that isn’t obvious at this point, to acknowledge that Skye is the most important person to him. It could mean a lot of things, after all. The whole team is a family, yes, but he and Skye...well, it’s different.

“And he asked if, you know, given everything with my dad, you were a father figure for me.”

He swallows, but keeps his eyes down and otherwise doesn’t react.

“But see, when we met, I wasn’t looking for my dad. I was looking for who I was.”

“So you don’t?”

His gut sort of seizes at this because two days ago she called him her friend and except for a few occasions when she’s called him her boss — and those have mostly been for jokes — it’s the closest they’ve ever come to putting a label on what this is between them. And lately…

Well, lately, Sif practically asked what it was between them and May worried over the connection between them and Andrew side eyed him as he passed over the copy of Skye’s psych eval...

Lately it’s been pointed out that his relationship with her might look inappropriate from any number of angles.

Lately, he’s been trying to figure it out.

“No,” she finally answers. “I hope that doesn’t —”

“No.”

And he wants to press this harder, but he also really, _really_ doesn’t.

Skye apparently feels the same because she picks up her cupcake and tears open the wrapper before taking a bite. A big one. Not a nibble, nothing dainty about it, and it makes him smile.

Basically, he’s never imagined that he could be so utterly charmed by a woman shoving nearly half of a Little Debbie snack cake into her mouth.

He unwraps his as he watches her chew.

“I used to love these,” he tells her. “Or, the other ones.” The old ones, not these _cosmic_ ones. The cosmic part is new. The cosmic part is also just colorful sprinkles on top — he doubts it changes the underlying experience much.

Skye swallows and sets down the rest of her cupcake as she turns on the couch to face him. He’s a little too enraptured by the sight of her wiping her index finger along her bottom lip and then sucking off a few crumbs.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Adulthood?”

Skye sort of laughs, like she pities him.

“Adulthood means giving up things you like?”

“It does when you’re trying to fit in.”

She frowns at that, giving him deep consideration.

“With people who judge you for eating cupcakes?”

Coulson swallows, unsure of how to answer the question.

“Someone who’s born upper middle class, who has all those markers, the little things matter less.”

“But when you’ve grown up poor, those little things become what defines you,” she adds, and he knows she’s experienced this first hand. “Are there so many snobs at SHIELD that they’d care?”

“It’s less about the people at SHIELD and more about blending in in a crowd.”

She nods, like she gets it. She probably does. But Skye’s better than he is, he thinks, at fitting into a situation without changing herself.

She’s better than him in a lot of ways.

“So you haven’t had snack cakes since you were a kid?”

“There have been exceptions. I like to eat junk food on road trips,” he informs her, which makes her smiles.

“Yeah?”

“Powdered donuts, especially.”

She laughs at that, and turns this smile on him — it’s so open and happy and pleased with him, it almost hurts.

“I think I’d like to see roadtrip Coulson.”

“We could arrange that,” he offers before really thinking through the ramifications.

“Yeah?”

“We could take Lola and…”

Something in her eyes changes when he mentions Lola, and he looks down at the couch, embarrassed.

“Is Lola ready?”

“Yeah, just about.”

“Have you taken her out, yet?”

“No. I figure that calls for a special occasion.”

“Like a road trip.”

He swallows.

“Yeah.”

“With me?”

“Yeah.”

She exhales loudly, and he looks up at her, at the sort of relieved expression on her face like maybe she was worried that he’d take it back.

Coulson smiles, too slow and flirtatious, but Skye returns it — equally flirty, equally slow.

And he wants that, to take off with Skye, to see the world the way she sees it.

A silence falls between them, and it’s not exactly an uncomfortable silence — not with Skye, not now when they’re being honest with each other — but he can’t help but feel unease. After all, they can’t exactly plan specifics, not with all the balls in the air: her powers, Hunter’s location, whatever Mack has been hiding.

Whatever this all means.

In the silence, Coulson fiddles again with his cupcake.

He pulls the treat out of its wrapper and breaks it neatly in half, leaves one half resting on the wrapper on the table. The other half, he brings to his mouth, broken edge to his lips.

And if he were to think about it for even a second, he wouldn’t do it, but the fact is that he doesn’t think about it.

It’s just how he used to eat the damn things, honestly.

He pushes his tongue into the center of the cupcake, scooping out the cream filling in one dexterous movement. And it’s Skye choking on the couch next to him that makes him aware of his actions and how potentially suggestive they are.

Coulson blushes and raises his eyes to meet hers just as his tongue retracts back into his mouth.

She stares at him for a moment — disbelief more than anything until she gestures at her lower lip. He raises his hand obediently and wipes up a trace of cream, which he sucks past his lips.

Skye keeps staring at him, inscrutable and sort of amused and he doesn’t know what else, until her lips curve into a smile.

“Subtle, Phil.”

“Skye —”

She grabs the remainder of his cupcake half from his hand and drops it on the coffee table, and before his brain has quite caught up with what’s going on, she grasps his face between her palms and kisses him.

She tastes of chocolate, like the perfect compliment to the too-sweet artificial cream he’s just swallowed, and it’s almost too good.

He breathes out against her lips; it comes out as a sort of longing moan that she muffles with her tongue before her teeth scrape softly across his lower lip.

He groans, but pulls back, seeking to explain himself before they sink further into this.

She grunts at the removal of his lips from hers, though.

“You’re being a tease,” she half-growls as she follows him across the couch to straddle his lap. He responds instantly by grasping her hips and pulling her against his chest, so she sort of towers over him and has to curve her neck down to kiss him.

He properly responds to her this time, opening for her as she directs him into a slow, deep kiss

“Skye,” he sighs as she kisses him again. “This is a bad idea.”

It doesn’t make her pull back.

“Why?”

He draws a blank. Like, the feel of her in his lap — the squeeze of her legs around his, the softness of her breasts against his chest, the wetness of her tongue against his lower lip...it all makes it impossible to think.

When he doesn’t answer, she finally does pull back.

“Give me a good reason, Coulson.”

“I…”

“You don’t have one?”

“No, I do, I just —” He runs his right hand down her back and tilts his chin down slightly so that her breasts, framed by the deep V of her shirt, are almost in his face.  “— can’t think right now.”

She smirks and kisses him again, this fast little press of her mouth that’s over before he has a chance to respond.

“Because I’m vulnerable right now,” Skye suggests, though the words come as she pops the button at his collar and begins to remove his tie.

“ _Skye_ ,” he sighs her name, nothing like the warning or admonition he’s going for.

“I _am_ vulnerable right now,” she admits, though she keeps loosening the knot around his neck. “We both are, I think.”

“Yes,” he agrees, but he still slides his hands up the back of her thighs, half-drunk on the softness of her skin under his fingers. He dips his fingers underneath the bottom of her shorts until he can feel the edge of her panties, until he can feel her shiver at the soft touch, and then grips her ass over her shorts to pull her down against him.

She circles her hips over his cock, and all he can hear for a moment is the rush of his own blood in his ears.

Then finally, she tugs his tie out of his collar and drapes it over the arm of the sofa.

“So you don’t want to do this?”

His heart beats faster at the thought of what _this_ might be, and the truth is that whatever _this_ is, he wants it.

“No, I do,” he nods, a little too emphatically.

And even though they should probably talk about this more, he just kisses back enthusiastically as she cups his face between her hands and sucks on his lower lip.

“I trust you,” she whispers against his mouth. “More than anyone, Coulson.”

“Yeah?”

She runs her hands up the sides of his face, cups his cheeks softly.

“Of course.” A soft kiss lands on his lips. “With everything. This, too.” She rocks her hips over his again, so he can feel the heat of her against his groin, so his cock throbs underneath her.

“I trust you, too.”

“I know,” she answers, but a touch too dismissively.

“Skye —”

“ _This_ ,” she waves her fingers in front of his face, “changes things. I know that.”

“No,” he cuts her off. “ _This_ doesn’t change anything, Skye. Nothing. You’re still you.”

And they never did this before, so it’s utterly illogical that he could show her that nothing has changed for him by kissing her again, by running his hands over her body. But maybe it’s enough that it shows her how much he trusts her, how much he cares for her, how much he _wants_ her.

Skye responds easily as he takes the initiative to kiss her, and when he slips his hands under her shirt to feel the warm skin on her back, she moans and arches against his fingers like she’s starved for touch. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps as he strokes his hands over her, and his fingers creeping towards her stomach make her moan into their kiss.

It’s intoxicating — how much she wants this, wants _him_ — and Coulson pulls back just enough to untuck the front of her shirt and tug at the buttons. Of course, Skye just leans back and pulls it over her head, leaving her on his lap in a tan bra with lace details around the edges.

“Skye,” he whispers her name, more than a little in awe of her.

She goes pretty still on his lap, barely rocking her hips against him as he runs his hands up her stomach, feeling out her soft skin until he’s cupping her breasts over her bra.

“Coulson.” His name sounds breathless on her lips, and he dips his thumbs under the edges of the cups, brushing her nipples so she moans above him.

He’s surprised, though, when her hands link behind his head and pull him forward as she rises up, so his lips are pressed between her breasts. He flattens his palms against her back, pushing her more firmly against his mouth as slides it over exposed skin until he’s working his tongue under the edge of her bra and Skye is shuddering above him.

It’s practically autopilot to run his hands back down her body, to find himself dipping his fingers under the waistband of her shorts. He hesitates, though, to unbutton them, to take this further.

“Do it,” she grunts, simultaneously directing his mouth towards her other breast, and he wastes no time unzipping her shorts and pulling open the button. He pulls back from her breasts just enough to see the top of her underwear — tan lace that matches her bra — before she guides his mouth back to where she wants it.

And he has to pause for a moment to appreciate the fact that he’s making out with a woman on the couch, some teenage rite of passage that he hasn’t thought about in half a lifetime. That sense is heightened by the fact that it feels so _new_ and unexplored, by the way he can feel every detail of the room around him — the couch too hard and scratchy underneath him, the feel of Skye’s skin and the smell of her sweat combined with something sweet in her shampoo, the air conditioning blowing on the back of his neck.

As his fingers slide down between her legs, she angles her hips, silently encouraging him to push first one and then two fingers inside of her.

She hisses and then gasps, still above him except for the slight shake in her arms around his head.

“God, Coulson,” she whispers, and she sounds just as awed as he feels.

There’s a flash of consideration that maybe he should ask her to call him Phil. She already did it once, after all.

But she whispers _Coulson_ again as she starts to rock her hips, basically riding his fingers, and it sounds so unbelievably good to him — the name she’s known him by, the name she’s called him for almost two years, now.

Her breath hitches when he curls his fingers, pressing forward inside of her, and her hands tighten at the back of his head but she holds his gaze. And he could lose himself in her eyes, he thinks, in the warmth and the depth of them.

The build to her orgasm is amazing to watch — wide eyes and parted lips and panted breaths as her body squeezes around his fingers.

She’s so quiet as she comes, hips moving against his hand, but when she leans her head forward onto his shoulder in the aftermath, her lips brush his ear.

“Don’t stop.”

So he doesn’t.

He does more of the work, moving his fingers harder inside of her as she pants just underneath his ear, her hips barely pulsing against his hand.

“Don’t stop,” she begs again, voice high and tight as she goes almost totally still on top of him. “Coulson.”

She moans his name _loudly_ as she comes again, her body somehow tighter around his fingers while her hips work in tight little circles against his hand. He keeps going until she collapses against him completely, leaving him no room for his arm between them.

Somehow, he manages to ignore the almost painful throbbing of his cock and focus instead on dragging his hands down her back, a soothing gesture as she comes down. And sure, the feel of her naked skin under his palms is at least a little bit for him, but he can put his focus on her, on what she needs.

“Phil,” she whispers, clearly going for the informal now that she’s thinking more clearly. Her voice is low, satisfied, and somehow even sexier, and it turns out he doesn’t care which name she calls him.

“Skye,” he answers back, hands still moving over her back, fingers on bare skin, and he’s not sure he can keep the focus on her and off of his cock, and then she rolls off of him and back onto the other side of the couch.

He watches as she stretches, making no move to pull up her shorts or collect her shirt, and then reaches for the remains of her cupcake, which she shoves in her mouth in one enormous mouthful. Coulson just blinks at her, watching blankly as she chews.

She doesn’t try to speak through her very full mouth, but gestures to the remains of his own cupcake. He follows the unspoken request, downing the creamless half in two quick bites before picking up the second half.

At which point Skye settles back on the couch and watches like it’s a show.

He does his best not to disappoint, and runs his tongue through the cream filling in a way that bypasses suggestive and goes straight for lewd. He’d probably find it completely humiliating, except that Skye’s interest is real, and demonstrated more clearly when she slips off her shorts, leaving her lounging on the couch in a matching set of lacy underwear, tongue trailing over her lower lips as she watches him.

Coulson loses any interest in his cupcake, dropping it back onto the coffee table as he turns more fully towards Skye.

“I was hoping for a more detailed demonstration of what you can do with your tongue,” she tells him, her voice still sounding so low and satisfied and sexy. She looks so unbearably smug, like she knows how much she’s affecting him.

“That can be arranged,” he promises, earning a tiny laugh as she rises from the couch and backs towards the bedroom.

“Coming, Phil?”

He definitely is.

  


 


End file.
